


a couple fights n' lonely nights

by alsoalsowik



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fake Marriage, Lack of Communication, Sharing a Bed, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Undercover Missions, this fic is a Lot of things omg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-23 22:44:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9684845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alsoalsowik/pseuds/alsoalsowik
Summary: When Cassian’s sure they’re out of earshot, he turn to Jyn. “Husband and wife?Really?”“I was keeping our cover!”“You were,” he says, a statement more than a question.“Yes,” Jyn starts, “because we don’t look enough alike to pass as siblings, Cassian.”otherwise known as the time Jyn and Cassian strand themselves on Tatooine and work out their feelings.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ardentaislinn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentaislinn/gifts).



> This is my Rebelcaptain Secret Valentine gift for ardentaislinn on Tumblr! I have to admit, I was not intending for this to get so long, but it really ran away from me. I've poured blood, sweat, and hours on Wookiepedia into this, so feedback is much appreciated. Enjoy!

The twin suns of Tatooine beat down on Cassian’s back, making the trek to Mos Espa that much more grueling. Jyn follows behind a few paces, no doubt searching the sand dunes for hostiles. He’s got his own blaster tucked beneath the dark poncho he’d been outfitted with back on base. It’s a formality, really. They aren’t expecting much trouble right now. 

 

Then again, the rebels never _expect_ trouble. 

 

“How much farther?” Jyn asks, voice lost a little in the wind coming off the rocky cliffs to the north. 

 

In fairness, it’s been a _long_ day already. Their ship landed in Mos Eisley too many hours ago to count, Kaytoo explaining the discrepancy between mission location and landing site with a clipped, “Well, you don’t want your target to see you coming, do you?” They’re supposed to rendezvous in two days and make the return to Hoth.

 

“Not long,” Cassian answers. He stops to riffle through the bag slung over his back to look for binoculars, but Jyn’s already handing them to him. “Thank you,” he says, hefting the bag back between his shoulders. 

 

“Anytime, _Captain_.”

 

There’s a bite to her words that stings like sand in his eye. Jyn didn’t want to go on this mission. She made that abundantly clear when he briefed her. “I don’t know what use I’d be. I’m not a spy,” she had said, sitting across from him and Kaytoo. It took an order from _Draven_ to finally get Jyn to say yes to coming to Tatooine.

 

Cassian can’t say he’s that surprised, honestly. He’s been avoiding her since Scarif. 

 

That was three months ago.

 

So, when he approached her about a simple reconnaissance mission involving the Hutt mob and their ties to the empire, Cassian knew it would take convincing. He wanted her to come, _wants_ her to be here, really, because she’s…because, no matter what, he trusts her. It doesn’t hurt that she’s scrappy as a Jawa, to boot. 

 

For better or worse, she eventually gave in. 

 

“I’d say we’re maybe an hour’s walk away.” He can just make out the ridge that should come before the city, if Kay’s map is correct. 

 

“Let’s get this show on the road.” 

 

Her words hurt the spot right between his ribs, but, clenching his jaw, Cassian continues along in the warm sand.

 

 

 

They reach the city a little over an hour later — stopping for water makes itself a necessity in the desert — just before sunset. The air is cooler, crisper, than it was on the way in, and for that, Cassian is thankful. By the looks of it, Jyn is too. He’s been noticing the way sweat beads on her forehead, sticking her bangs flat against it.

 

“We are going to need a place to stay for a few nights,” Cassian says as they walk through the thinning crowd of the marketplace. “An inn or hostel should do the trick.”

 

“Because we’re tourists,” Jyn says, a dryness to her voice. 

 

“Right. Because we are tourists.” They continue through the stalls and shops in silence.

 

Jyn stops at a stall where a young boy — a slave, most likely — sits beside a barrel of fruit. It’s made clear by the way the rags that pass for his clothing hang off his narrow shoulders that he won’t get to eat any of the product he’s tasked with selling. Cassian watches as Jyn purchases two muja fruits with the measly credit ship the Alliance saw fit to give her for the mission. She hands the boy both of them and walks back to meet him in the center of the market.

 

In the setting sunlight, Cassian thinks she looks —  

 

Shaking his head, he tells Jyn they need to be going. 

 

Past the edge of the market, Cassian spots a sign for an inn. It looks awfully small and a little seedy, but, with the limited funds Draven gave them, that might be a benefit. He grabs at Jyn’s elbow instinctively to lead her in the right direction, but she brushes him off and walks ahead. 

 

She pulls the door open and Cassian follows, brow quirked.  

 

“Hello?” Jyn asks into an empty foyer. She takes a few steps to investigate, then says, louder, “Anyone home? We’re paying customers.”

 

As if on cue, a greasy looking Toydarian rounds the corner, nearly taking Jyn down. 

 

“So sorry,” he says, accent thick. “Paying customers, you said?”

 

“Yes,” Jyn starts, before Cassian can open his mouth. 

 

“Just the two of you?”

 

“Yes,” she repeats. “My husband and I are on vacation, touring all the sites Tatooine has to offer.”

 

The Toydarian chokes out a laugh — it turns into a coughing fit — then makes his way behind a counter to the left of the door. He rifles through a stack of papers before handing a few to Jyn. “I need your names.”

 

“Liana and Aach,” she replies, not missing a beat.

 

“And payment in advance.”

 

“I’ll let my husband take care of that.” Jyn says _husband_ again so effortlessly that Cassian almost forgets what she’s just gotten them into.

 

“Yes,” he says, stepping forward, “my… _wife_ prefers that I handle the money.” He hands over 300 credits and sees Jyn biting her lip out of the corner of his eye. By the time he looks at her proper, she’s back to smiling at their new business parter, room key in hand. 

 

“It’s out back, to the right,” he croaks, then disappears into a corridor, credits in hand. They step through an archway into a dilapidated courtyard. 

 

When Cassian’s sure they’re out of earshot, he turn to Jyn. “Husband and wife? _Really_?”

 

“I was keeping our cover!”

 

“You were,” he says, a statement more than a question.

 

“Yes,” Jyn starts, “because we don’t look enough alike to pass as siblings, Cassian.” 

 

He tenses. “Now that you’ve given us code names, I advise you stick to them, _Liana_.”

 

“It’s not like anyone can hear us right now.”

 

“Do you know that?”

 

“Do _you_?”

 

Cassian turns toward the back of the inn, eyes scanning the archway they just passed through. It looks clear of cameras or microphones. “Fine. We are _probably_ alone.”

 

“I knew that, y’know,” Jyn says, looking vaguely offended. She makes her way toward their room and, once again, Cassian follows at her heels. A good spy never leaves his partner’s back uncovered. At least, that’s what he tells himself. 

 

She slides the key in the door and makes a disgruntled sort of _humph._

 

He looks up and notices the issue: one bed. One _small_ bed. 

 

“So,” Jyn starts, clasping her hands, “I suppose when I said we were married, he assumed we’d want just the one bed.”

 

“It would appear that way,” Cassian says, kicking himself for going along with her impromptu plan. He could have said she was joking. Or that she’s not right in the head. Or that they actually don’t know each other and will be requiring two separate rooms, thank you very much.

 

“Okay,” she says, elongating the _o_. “We’ll get this settled. But once I’ve hit the refresher, alright?”

 

“If that’s what you want,” he replies, voice flat.

 

Jyn crosses her arms and shoots him a glare — not a first on this mission. “As much as I’d love to have it out with you right now, I’m filthy. Unless you’d like to join me — ” she stops short, eyes going wide. 

 

Neither one of them speak for a long moment. Cassian clenches his fist in effort not to…he’s not sure what he wants to _do,_ but he doesn’t need the image of him and Jyn pressed together, water beading in her hair and spilling down her pale skin in his mind.

 

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she finishes, firmly, turning on her heels, only stopping to set her bag on the ground.

 

Cassian’s left alone in the dingy room, willing himself to pull it together. He takes a deep breath, then does what he does best: preparing for what comes next. 

 

He slips his boots, caked in sand and whatever filth found them in the marketplace, off before reclining on the bed with a datapad. Tomorrow, they’ll head into Hutt territory, playing the part of innocent tourists. If Cassian’s lucky, they’ll find out exactly how the Hutt mob and Empire are connected — whether it’s an arbitrary partnership or something more substantial. 

 

The rebels have a hunch the the Hutts have been leasing bounty hunters to the Empire. If that’s true, Cassian needs to act fast. They’re working off of information compiled by Kaytoo and Han Solo, newfound Alliance asset. 

 

Cassian’s not sure he quite trusts Solo, but the Princess seems to at least _tolerate_ his presence, and that’s enough for most of the rebels. No matter his credentials, Solo’s given them valuable information about the Hutt family from his smuggling days.

 

“I don’t particularly care if any one of those kriffing slugs doesn’t make it out alive,” he’d said at Cassian’s first briefing. 

 

“We are not aiming on many shots being fired,” Cassian had answered. “This is intelligence — we want to get in and out without being noticed.”

 

Solo’d just rolled his eyes. “I _know_. I’m just saying…” He’d trailed off when the Princess rounded the corner.

 

Regardless, their main target tomorrow is —

 

“Oh. I’m sorry, I just, uh, need my things.” Jyn’s voice startles him, tearing his attention from the data Kaytoo compiled on the Hutt clan. Cassian looks up and, of course, Jyn’s standing at the foot of the bed in a thin excuse for a towel. Just his kriffing luck.

 

“Cassian?” 

 

“Yes?” he responds, standing. 

 

“Where’s my bag?”

 

“Under the bed, I think. You — I’ll get it for you.” He must’ve knocked it under with his boots. Setting the datapad down, he kneels to fish for it. But he makes the mistake of turning his head and is greeted with none other than Jyn’s bare legs, right at eye level. Closing his eyes, Cassian grabs for the worn, military-issue canvas of her knapsack.

 

“Thanks,” Jyn says when he finally hands it to her. She turns back to the refresher and Cassian wills himself to relax and treat this like any other mission. 

 

Taking a deep breath, he picks up the datapad again. Their main target tomorrow is Jabba, known crime lord and — according to Han Solo — a real sonofabitch. Most Alliance targets, Cassian’s found, are. He’s not worried. 

 

About himself, that is. 

 

He hasn’t worked a mission with Jyn since Scarif. That was considerably different. Cassian thought he was going to die there, that it was the last thing he was ever going to do; it didn’t matter how well it was done. This time, it matters. Jyn’s already proved herself to be a little more spontaneous than he’d like and that’s what’s _really_ nagging at him. 

 

Some spontaneity is good. Encouraged, even. But they _need_ to be on the same page for this to go off without a hitch. If he can mention it tonight, things will be settled. Cassian will be able to focus solely on the task at hand. 

 

That’s what he tells himself, anyway, while he strips his poncho off and changes into sweat pants. 

 

As he debates taking off the undershirt he’s been wearing and sleeping bare-chested, Jyn walks back into the room. Shirt on, then. 

 

She sits on the bed near the wall, fingers combing through her wet hair. Wearing a tank top and shorts, Cassian doesn’t think he’s ever seen her quite so exposed. He’s reaching for a pillow Jyn finally looks at him. 

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“I am,” he starts, clutching the pillow like a child caught out of bed, “going to sleep here.” He motions to the floor by the door. 

 

“Why?” she asks, eyes narrowing. 

 

Cassian isn’t sure what to say to that. “I thought…do you not _want_ me to sleep on the floor?”

 

“I mean, you can if you want,” Jyn says. “But we have a mission tomorrow. You should get some decent sleep, and I don’t see how you’ll make that happen on the ground.”

 

It’s not an answer to the question he posed, but Cassian gets it. He thinks. 

 

“We can share,” he says, more to himself than to Jyn. 

 

She nods. “Of course we can. We’re adults, after all.” She pats the spot beside her. “Come on, then.”

 

He walks back to the bed, steps slower than usual. Setting the pillow down, he draws the blankets back. Jyn wastes no time sandwiching herself between the sheets, drawing the covers almost to her chin. For a brief moment, Cassian sees her roll her eyes. 

 

“What is it?”

 

“Oh.” Jyn looks over at him, about to slide into bed. Her cheeks look rosy in the dim light. It might be from the extra sun exposure today. 

 

It might be from something else entirely.

 

“I was just thinking…if we _are_ being watched,” she starts, “it’s a good thing we’ve only got the one bed. Should really sell the whole _married_ thing.”

 

Cassian swallows, brain scrambling, then answers, “Yes, I suppose it will.”

 

He lies down as close to the edge of the bed as possible, trying to give Jyn all the room she needs. The distance is good for him, too. Helps him keep a clear head. But then he turn on his side to look at Jyn and —

 

Her hair, all damp and wavy from the shower, frames her face like a painting. Those green eyes he’s grown so accustomed to seeing are bright and open, a stark difference from the glares and eye-rolls he’s been getting all day. Face scrubbed clean of sand and sweat, Jyn looks as young as she actually is. The rebellion has this way of aging people — Cassian sees it every time he looks in a mirror — but right now, lying a foot away from him, Jyn looks like a young woman with everything ahead of her. 

 

He blinks and she’s turned to stare at the ceiling. 

 

“D’you think it’ll go well?” Jyn asks, eyes still trained above her. 

 

“Well,” Cassian starts, still looking at her, “I was actually going to mention something.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Tomorrow, we need to be on the same page, the entire time.”

 

He feels her tense in the way the bed shudders beneath them. “As good as improvisation can be,” he continues, “I think everything will go smoother if we get our story straight ahead of time.”

 

“I see,” Jyn says, carefully. “You want me to do as you say, _Captain_?”

 

“That’s not what I — I’m just saying, if you’re going to do something like _marry us,_ it’d be nice if I had a heads up.”

 

She’s silent, but Cassian can sense the anger coursing through her body. He didn’t have to be so specific, but something like that can’t happen tomorrow. Jyn sucks in a deep breath and, for a moment, Cassian thinks she’s about to say something, to yell at him one last time, but she doesn’t. Instead, he watches as she rolls over to face the wall, pulling the sheets with her. 

 

He falls asleep closer than he’s been to Jyn in a long while, but it feels like he’s never been farther away. 

 

 

 

Five hours later, the datapad chirps at him and Cassian groans, throwing a hand up to cover his eyes. Dragging it down across his face and squinting in the bright light of the Tatooine morning, he freezes. There’s warm breath on his neck and a pleasant weight across his chest. He doesn’t need to look down the length of the bed to know Jyn’s wrapped herself around him in sleep. 

 

She’s got her arm flung over his chest and one leg nearly hitched over his waist. What’s even worse is the way her face is buried in the crook of his neck, nose pressed to the sensitive skin there, sending shivers down his spine with every exhale. He _needs_ to get up, for both of their sakes. Just as Cassian tries to move, to get away before Jyn wakes, she tightens her grip around his middle. 

 

If he’s being honest with himself, it feels _so right._ She fits, presses against him like this. If they weren’t — if _he_ wasn’t — 

 

The datapad chips again and Jyn rustles. He hears her suck in a breath, then feels the way she stretches her legs against his. Cassian knows the second her eyes open and she registers the situation — the warmth and softness of the moment evaporates. They are spies again. Friends, maybe. Partners, definitely. Husband and wife? Nowhere near. 

 

Jyn draws away from him, untangling their limbs and crawling across the bed to get up. She slips into the refresher before he can say anything, but he catches a glimpse of her eyes as she leaves. They’re downcast the whole time, but Cassian sees the shame etched in the slump of her shoulders.

 

A knot works its way into his stomach at the thought of _Jyn_ being embarrassed. If anything, it should be him, for reveling in the _feel_ of her pressed against him instead of just getting up. 

 

He should’ve slept on the damn floor. 

 

 

 

The suns are as hot as they were yesterday, Cassian notes as they trek across the dunes of Tatooine on the way to the Hutt palace. Ideally, they'd be on speeders, but the owner of the Inn had been reluctant to rent any out for less than all of their remaining credits. 

 

So, they’re walking. 

 

Jyn’s behind him again, but this time Cassian’s less worried about hostiles finding them and more worried about less-than-friendly fire. He’d deserve it, he decides, as they march on through the sand, tracks disappearing behind them. 

 

“Up ahead,” Jyn calls after what seems like hours of walking in the same direction. Cassian squints against the bright white reflecting off the sand and sees it — a large, cylindrical building emerging from a cropping of rocks. 

 

He halts, rifling through his bag for the datapad with precise coordinates. It’s definitely the Hutt Palace. 

 

“What’s the plan?” Jyn asks, even though they’d gone over it on Hoth _and_ en route to Tatooine. 

 

“We are tourists. We are lost. We are clueless,” Cassian repeats from memory. “I will do the talking and you will move once I’ve distracted whoever it is we’ll be dealing with.”

 

She nods, face a mask. At least she doesn't look angry. 

 

It only takes another half hour for them to reach the front door. Metal and at least twenty feet tall, whatever lies behind it won't be welcoming. Then again, welcoming isn’t a word Cassian tends to associate with any of his missions.

 

Jyn steps forward and raps twice at the door. 

 

They wait. 

 

Just as she’s about to knock a third time, there’s a deafening creak as the door begins to rise. The whole process takes almost a minute and then they’re face to face with the innards of the Hutt Palace. Two guards stand in the entrance to a dark, cavernous hallway, weapons held fast to their chests. Cassian sneaks a glance at Jyn and notes there parted lips and the bewildered quirk of her brow.

 

She’s acting.

 

He speaks, knowing the guards won’t understand. They, according to Solo, only know Huttese, so he’s talking in Basic to confuse them. One of them says something — _Who are you?_ — so Cassian talks slower, with more gesticulation, to sell the illusion of innocence. 

 

“We are tourists who've lost our way,” he says, enunciating every word. “Can you help?”

 

The two guards exchange a few words that Cassian recognizes and motion for them to follow as they walk farther into the palace. 

 

Jyn walks beside him this time, her hand finding his. When her fingers lace with his, Cassian remembers: they’re supposed to be married. Right. 

 

Her hands are small and calloused from all the _surviving_ she’s done. His are rough and worn from the killing he’s done in the name of the Rebellion. They shouldn’t fit together so well, but Cassian doesn’t ever want to let go. 

 

The hallway turns into an open chamber — throne room, Han Solo had said — and the guards stop. That’s Cassian’s cue.

 

“We were hoping you might have speeders we could borrow,” Cassian says, dropping Jyn’s hand to mime riding one. He feels _ridiculous_ , but the guards are so focused on trying to understand what Cassian’s saying that they don’t notice Jyn slipping away, back into the darkness. 

 

One of the pig-faced grunts says something that sounds an awful lot like _where’s the girl?_ and turns in the direction Jyn went. Before the other one has a chance to raise its axe in anger or confusion, Cassian pulls his blaster from the holster under his poncho and shoots both of them between the eyes. 

 

He reaches for the comm in his pocket and hopes Jyn has hers on.

 

“Where are you?” he asks, eyes searching the darkness for company. “Jyn?”

 

After a few seconds, she answers, “Back room, to the left of where we came in. Looks clear for now.”

 

Cassian sighs, running his free hand through his hair. “Good. I’ll be right there. I just have to clean up first.”

 

“I thought we weren’t killing anyone, Captain,” Jyn says. He can _see_ the look on her face, half annoyed, half pleased. 

 

“They were about to go after you, you know.”

 

For a minute, Cassian thinks he must have lost her, she takes so long answering.

 

“Well. Get here as fast as you can. This place gives me the creeps.”

 

“As you wish,” Cassian replies, then puts the comm away and works on dragging the dead guards out of plain sight. Their death should make Han Solo happy, at least. When the area looks more like it did before the near-shootout, Cassian walks down the hallway he saw Jyn take.

 

A few sconces illuminate the way until he’s face to face with what looks like a velvet curtain. Taking a cautious step forward, he reaches out to brush the fabric aside. It’s darker than the hallway, so Cassian blinks, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

 

When they do, he notices a comm smashed to pieces on the floor.

 

His heart drops. 

 

“Jyn?” he calls, not even thinking to use her code name. “ _Jyn!”_

 

He hears something muffled, not quite a voice, but more than a trick of his imagination. Cassian grabs for his blaster and moves further into the room, jaw twitching with the effort he’s using to not start shooting everything in sight. A noise — a boot scraping against the sandy floor — makes his head snap up. He drops his bag to rid himself of the extra weight and moves slowly, eyes searching for movement.

 

That’s when he spots the dark figure in the corner of the room with a hand clasped over Jyn’s mouth, pinning her to the wall, so far up her feet don’t even touch the ground. Something cold and sharp runs its way down Cassian’s spine and before he can think he’s got his blaster aimed ahead. 

 

“Drop her, now,” Cassian says. It comes out more desperate than powerful and a little shakier than he’d like. 

 

“Who are you?” the figure — a man, based on the deepness of his voice — asks, _not_ letting Jyn go. “What are you doing here?”

 

“We are…newlyweds,” Cassian answers, a weak attempt at upholding their cover. “That’s my _wife_ you’ve got held up, and I would very much like her back, please.”

 

“Your wife,” the man repeats. “Well, for tourists, you’re very well armed. Must know how dangerous these parts can be.” He’s still got Jyn held above the floor and Cassian can see how she’s not trying to get free. 

 

He knows she could. Easily. 

 

She’s giving him a look that says _follow my lead and don’t ask questions,_ so he nods. The man pushes Jyn up higher and it takes every ounce of strength Cassian has not to march over and put a hole in the back of his head. For Jyn’s sake, he’ll play along. 

 

“We’ve heard of the dangers of Tatooine,” Cassian says, trying to draw the man’s attention away from Jyn. “Bounty hunters and crime rings, the works really.”

 

“How did you wind up here?”

 

Cassian sees Jyn’s hand inching down her leg to the holster on her thigh. She needs more time. “We were hiking from Mos Espa,” he starts, “when a sandstorm hit and knocked us around. We didn’t know which way we were going, so we just picked a direction.”

 

“Funny that you’d wind up here, armed to the nines.”

 

“Life is hilarious,” Cassian replies, feeling a little like Kaytoo.

 

“And you’ve got comms, which means you’re definitely — Hey!” Before Cassian can so much as move, Jyn’s shoving the man down away from her, dropping to the ground with a _thud._ She points her blaster to his temple and smirks.

 

_Damn_ , he thinks, _she’s good_.

 

But then Jyn’s yelping as the bastard gets a hand wrapped around her ankle. Cassian shoots on instinct.

 

The man makes a pained sort of grunt, then pulls his hand back to reach for his own blaster and rocks on his heels to stand. Cassian aims his blaster at the same time Jyn does, meeting her eyes in the process. She winks — if they weren’t in the middle of a serious situation, Cassian might actually appreciate that. 

 

“Are you with the Hutts?” Jyn asks, focusing her attention back on their subject. “Bounty hunter?”

 

The man spits at her. “Like I’d give information to rebel spies,” he answers, eyeing them dangerously. 

 

“Good thing it’s just us newlyweds here,” Jyn says, finger itching dangerously close to the trigger of her blaster. 

 

“No,” the man starts, “I’m not going to be telling you anything. And,” he pauses, “you won’t be communicating anything to your superiors.”

 

Things happen fast after that. Their new friend aims at Cassian. He puts his hands up in faux innocence. Jyn throws herself between them just as the bounty hunter pulls the trigger. She cries out, falling to the ground. Cassian’s entire world freezes — all he sees is Jyn, clutching her arm so hard her knuckles go white. 

 

He does, however, hear an impressive sizzle. He turns in time to see his bag go up in flames. 

 

Cursing to the high heavens, Cassian whirls around and sinks one shot into the man’s chest, sending his body toppling backward. Jyn, still on the ground, whimpers, holding her arm tight against her body. He rushes to her side, sinking down on his knees to get a good look at her.

 

“I’m fine,” she starts, “really.” Cassian might believe her if her voice wasn’t quivering like a leaf on the wind. He doesn’t want to argue about the state of her health. Instead, he settles for offering Jyn a hand and pulling her off of the ground.

 

Frankly, it’s a miracle his pack was the only casualty. But now they have no comms — Jyn’s is in pieces on the ground and Cassian’s was connected to the datapad — and no information for the Alliance. He groans, a shard of irritation working itself into a hole in his resolve.

 

“That could have gone better,” Jyn says in what must be the understatement of the century as they walk outside. The afternoon suns make everything for miles look white, adding a layer of hopelessness in searching for any mode of transportation. He doesn’t particularly want to make the trek back to Mos Espa on foot, especially with Jyn’s arm in some condition. 

 

He exhales hard. Goddamn, everything was going _so well —_

 

“What?” Jyn asks, staring up at him, eyes wide with concern. “What’s wrong?”

 

Cassian laughs, but there’s no humor behind it. “What’s wrong? We just wasted a three day mission on _nothing,_ Jyn.”

 

“I’m sure this isn’t the first time you’ve come back empty-handed,” she says. 

 

“And what’s even more,” Cassian continues, ignoring her uncharacteristic attempt at positivity, “we lost our comms and datapad. Otherwise known as our way off of this planet.”

 

“We’ll figure something out.”

 

“You don’t get it.” Cassian’s voice rises dangerously close to a shout, all of his frustrations coming to a point. “If you hadn’t jumped in front of me, I could have shot before he did!”

 

“Do you want me to _apologize_ for trying to save your life?”

 

“He wasn’t going to shoot at _me_!”

 

“Like I could read his mind!”

 

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You can’t pull stunts like that in the field, Jyn.”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, was I _improvising_ too much?”

 

“ _Yes_!”

 

Jyn looks ready to punch him in the jaw. If her arm weren’t hurt, Cassian figures she would. “You know what, Cassian?” He looks down at her, takes in the defeated anger written across her face, and feels a pang of regret. “If you were just going to yell at me for screwing everything up, maybe you shouldn’t have asked me to come on this kriffing mission.”

 

She turns away from him, fuming, and he’s right back where he was a day ago. 

 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have,” Cassian says to himself. 

 

Eventually, a figure appears over the horizon. It comes closer and closer until Cassian recognizes it — a moisture farmer, presumably, towing three speeders behind the one he’s riding. Seizing the opportunity, Cassian waves to flag him down. 

 

“Of course, I’d be happy to lend you a ride,” the farmer starts. “It’s dangerous out here, you know.”

 

Cassian nods. Jyn scoffs. 

 

 

 

They don’t speak on the speeder ride back to the inn. The wind whooshing past his ears is all Cassian hears, but he keeps looking behind him to check on Jyn. Her eyes are set on the horizon while she clutches her arm to her chest. She doesn’t look at him. Cassian clenches his jaw and continues on. 

 

When they finally make it back to Mos Espa, Cassian helps her down off the speeder. Her eyes meet his for the first time since he yelled at her and Cassian still sees a mixture of rage and hurt — both his fault. He leads her back to the inn and is more than a little surprised when she doesn’t run free of his hand at her back. 

 

The door slides open and shut, leaving them alone in the small room. 

 

“Is your arm alright?” Cassian asks, softly. 

 

Jyn nods. “Just a graze,” she answers, toying with the fabric of her tunic where it’s gathered around her wrist. Her fingers catch where the skin must be raw and she hisses, eyes squeezing shut. 

 

He’s already closing the distance between them when Jyn opens her eyes and shakes her head, steeling herself. “Let me,” he says, reaching out to grasp her arm. She tenses, but doesn’t pull away. 

 

Cassian pulls the sleeve of her tunic up. His heart plummets when he sees the reality of her _just a graze_. It’s a wonder the brown fabric isn’t soaked with blood. “I will get the medkit,” he says, guiding her to sit at the edge of the bed. He catches the way Jyn avoids looking directly at her arm, like she’s afraid to see how bad the damage actually is. 

 

That’s the easiest way to live life the way they do — ignore the pain until you forget it’s there at all. Soldier on, because there’s a greater cause that needs you. Put yourself second, always. 

 

She meets Cassian’s eyes when he walks back to her, medkit in hand. He can’t quite tell what she’s feeling, but he’d bet it’s not _good._ Cassian works at getting a bacta strip across the bulk of her wound. He doesn’t care much for the slimy texture of bacta and would prefer the resources of his childhood — bandages and alcohol. Judging by the way Jyn almost recoils when it hits her skin, Cassian would wager she agrees. 

 

“I think you’ll be okay,” he tells Jyn, still inspecting her arm. She pulls away from him and watches the wound go from a dark-sticky red to an angry pink. 

 

“Thank you, Captain,” she says. There’s no malice to Jyn’s words, but they’re so impersonal that Cassian feels something bitter lodge itself between his ribs. 

 

With nothing to do, silence takes over the room. Cassian watches Jyn pull her sleeve back down and stand, grabbing her things to head to the refresher. He feels the tension between them — it’s been growing all day, all week, _since they got back from Scarif_ — start to dissipate and, against every one of his instincts (that sound an awful lot like Kaytoo), he makes a move.

 

“Wait!”

 

Jyn turns, looking more tired than anything else. “What?”

 

Cassian doesn’t really have a plan so, channeling Jyn, he supposes, he improvises. “I didn’t mean to yell at you back there,” he starts. “But I saw that you got hit and I was _scared_ and — ”

 

“You were scared?” Jyn asks, bite finding its way back into her voice. “You have no kriffing _right_ to be scared, Cassian!”

 

“Of course I do!” he fires back, moving closer to her. 

 

“ _Why_?”

 

He pauses. Why? There's the question he’s been trying to avoid these past months, since he woke up after Scarif.

 

He was at peace with dying there. He was prepared for that to be the end of the line. But then he woke up, heart still beating, with Jyn sitting beside his bed. She looked _relieved_ to see his eyes open. The first question out of his mouth had been, “The others?”

 

That’s when the relief melted away and turned to grief. “Just Kay.”

 

With those two words, Cassian's walls rebuilt. The other members of Rogue One…Bodhi, Chirrut, Baze…nobody but him and Jyn. Captains don’t let their men die. Captains don’t come back without their crew. 

 

Captains don’t let themselves focus so intently another person and ignore the soldiers they’ve brought to _die_. 

 

Captains don’t let themselves luxuriate in sentimentality and attachment. 

 

“I said, _why_ , Cassian.”

 

“Because I can’t lose you,” he answers, simply. Jyn looks like she’s about to fight a swarm of troopers, she’s so furious. 

 

She takes a step forward, clenching her fists so hard she goes white-knuckled. “You don’t want to lose me? Cassian, for god’s sake, you’ve been avoiding me since Scarif! Since the day you woke up, I’ve barely seen you!”

 

“I…didn’t want to — ”

 

“We almost died together! We make it out alive, the _only ones_ of all our friends, and then you decide to avoid me like I’m the goddamn _sarlacc_.” She’s breathing heavy, eyes boring holes into his skull with the intensity of her stare. “I _deserve_ a better explanation than that, Cassian.”

 

“You want a better explanation?” Cassian asks, not entirely sure what he’s going to say next. But if Jyn wants one, he’s going to give it to her. He owes her that, after all of this. 

 

“ _Yes_!”

 

"I'm in love with you!" he blurts. "And I don't know what the hell to do with that."

 

Jyn goes silent, eyes wide with fists still clenched at her sides. 

 

"Men like me," Cassian goes on, without thinking, "we don't get to love. We _fight_ and we _kill_ and we do what we're _ordered_ to do, but we don't — "

 

He catches a glimpse of Jyn out of the corner of his eye and stops short. 

 

Her mouth is pressed into a thin line, eyes still wide as the two suns shining outside. “I,” Cassian starts, quieter, more controlled, “I did not mean…”

 

His words trail off into nothing while Jyn stands in front of him, unmoving. This is exactly what Cassian’s been worrying about the past three months: attachment getting in the way of him doing his job. A better captain would have walked away after patching up a subordinate and get to the more pressing issue at hand — like figuring out _how the hell_ they’re going to get off this rock of a planet with no communications. 

 

As it would seem, and despite his best efforts, Cassian is not a better man. 

 

“What did you just say?” Jyn asks, suddenly. She’s lost that statuesque set to her eyes and there’s that flush creeping up her cheeks reminiscent of last night. 

 

“Jyn,” he says as more of a plea than anything else. He won’t…he _can’t_ say it again, not when it’s taken so long to keep those feelings tampered down, below the surface and out of mind. 

 

Then Jyn, take-charge woman she is, does the hard work for him. “You love me?”

 

Cassian nods; it’s all he can bring himself to do. Shame rises in his throat like bile because he’s _failed._ Jyn doesn’t deserve to have this thrust upon her. She’s got just as much to do as he does and they’ve both got stakes in winning this rebellion. She shouldn’t be bogged down by _his_ inconvenient feelings. 

 

But when he looks up, she’s not frowning or avoiding his gaze or looking for an escape route. She’s looking right at him, the first hint of a _real smile_ he’s seen in weeks hiding in the slight curl of her lips. Maybe, Cassian thinks, taking in the way Jyn seems more alive now than she has this entire trip, _maybe_ he’s got this wrong. 

 

“You love me,” she repeats, but this time it’s not a question. 

 

He nods again and she _lights up._ Then something else crosses her face and she takes one more step forward to sock him in the shoulder. 

 

“What?” Cassian yelps, reaching up to rub at where that’s probably going to bruise, based on Jyn’s aptitude for _breaking_ troopers. 

 

“You should have told me months ago, Cassian.” She doesn’t look quite angry, though. 

 

“I know,” he says, feeling a little more than shock. “I just didn’t want to…get attached.”

 

“So you thought your best option was to ignore my existence and yell at me any chance you got?”

 

“I suppose so,” Cassian admits. Said aloud, he sees the absurdity. Really, he’s been aware that it’s a ridiculous purse of action, but he doesn’t _do_ this whole love thing. Rather, he _hasn’t_.

 

“You’ve been spending too much time with Han Solo,” Jyn says before reaching up and closing the distance between them. She fists a hand in the material of his poncho and tugs, pulling him down into her orbit. “Don’t think you’re off the hook for being an _idiot,_ but I’ve wanted to do this for a while,” she whispers, forehead against his. 

 

Cassian doesn’t get a chance to answer, to apologize for his idiocy and series of _bad,_ stupid decisions before Jyn’s mouth is on his. 

 

All at once, he wonders why on earth he was trying to stop this inevitability. Their mouth fit together like nothing he’s ever experienced — when Jyn sinks her teeth into his bottom lip it’s like the key he never knew he was missing. Cassian’s mouth opens for her and she sighs into it, tongue soothing across the spot she just bit. 

 

Kissing Jyn brings him back to that day on Scarif, when the light was overtaking everything and there was nothing for him to do but _let it happen._ The feel of her, the taste of her, it’s overwhelming in the best sort of way. 

 

Jyn’s hand finds its way to the base of his neck, her fingers burning imprints into his skin. Cassian swears, as long as he lives, he’ll never forget the way her nails press crescent moons into his body. Or how her fingers card through his hair so _perfectly._

 

He finally breaks, hands wandering to her waist and crushing her hips to his. 

 

She moans something obscene and his head drops to her shoulder. “I _am_ sorry,” Cassian says into the bare skin there, where her tunic’s gone askew. “For not just telling you.”

 

Jyn takes a step back — he whines, already missing the feel of her hands on him — and plops down on the bed. The _one bed_ that they’ll be sharing tonight, no matter what. 

 

“I think I know how you can start to make it up to me,” she says, curling a finger at him. Her grin is positively wicked and —apart from sending all the blood in his body southward — it takes a great weight off his shoulders. 

 

Cassian crosses the space between them and joins her, crawling on the bed and pressing her into the mattress. Jyn’s legs wrap around his waist like they’ve never done anything else. 

 

For the first time since Scarif, Cassian feels his walls start to crumble. 

 

 

 

Later, with her head pressed to the skin above his heart, Jyn whispers into the darkness. Cassian’s already drifting, so he nearly misses the breathy, “I love you, too, you know.”

 

_What walls?_ Cassian thinks to himself as he presses a kiss to Jyn’s hair. 

 

 

 

In the morning, it’s a huge, looming shadow that wakes Cassian instead of the standard datapad alarm. He opens his eyes and nearly yells because Kaytoo’s _right there_ , large metal body blocking the sunlight. Jyn stirs and Cassian realizes they’ve been caught in quite the compromising position. 

 

Even if Kay hasn’t noticed their clothes strewn about the room, he’s got to see how Jyn’s curled on top of him. 

 

“What are you doing here?” Cassian asks quietly as possible. 

 

“We were supposed to rendezvous this morning, Cassian,” Kay says. 

 

“Yes,” he replies, “but we lost our comms and datapad. I guess what I meant is _how_ are you here?”

 

Jyn must open her eyes then because he gets an earful of, “Oh my _gods,_ what the _fuck?”_

 

“Good morning, Jyn.”

 

“Kay,” Cassian repeats, trying to sit up without exposing just how naked Jyn is under the blankets, “I asked you a question.”

 

“Of course. When I stopped receiving your location, I knew Sergeant Erso must have compromised the mission — ” Jyn growls, shooting Kay a look that has Cassian fighting back laughter “ — and decided to come after you myself.”

 

“We’re _undercover,_ ” Jyn snaps. 

 

“It’s a good thing I’m on your side,” is all Kay offers as explanation. 

 

“Alright,” Cassian starts, “we will meet you outside.” 

 

When he doesn’t leave, Jyn adds, “We’re naked, you dolt.”

 

“I didn’t know you were rewarding bad behavior,” Kay says on his way out the door. Jyn nearly gets up to throw a boot at him, but Cassian wraps his arms around her middle and presses his lips to the back of her neck. 

 

“Don’t waste your time,” he says. “Let’s just get off this dustbowl.” 

 

“Fine,” Jyn grumbles. 

 

They collect what few things survived the past day and walk back into the inn’s courtyard. Kay stands in the middle, surveying the other rooms and few guests. He leads them in the direction of their ship, far outside of the market center. Cassian can’t wait to be free of the sand and sun, actually longing for the dry cold of Hoth. 

 

“I trust it was an unsuccessful mission?” Kay asks when they’re clear of the city and anyone to overhear them. 

 

“Only mostly,” Jyn answers, shooting a wink at Cassian. 

 

Well. Maybe it was a good thing he fought so hard for her to come to Tatooine, after all. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> (I believe that's what they call a Deus ex machina, lol. The original prompt for this fic was "Jyn and Cassian stranded on a mission together", so I technically succeeded! Sort of. Anywho, I'm baenakinskywalker on Tumblr if you have any questions/comments/concerns. Thanks for reading!)


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